


SE Franklin St

by AQA473



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Happy Birthday Max
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-22 21:17:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4850858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AQA473/pseuds/AQA473
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chloe got a parking ticket on Max's birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	SE Franklin St

“Whaddya think, Maximillion?” Chloe swings her can around, the liquid sloshing in the tin.

Empty space answers back, wind whistling through bushing, brushing Chloe’s hair into her face.

She heaves it back before planting the can to her lips. “Oh, oh! Okay! I s-see how it is! You’re just gonna ignore me, huh!? Well I don’t wanna be- ah!” Her foot falls into a hole, taking her to the ground and spilling the last of her beer on the dirt. “Shit! Fuck you, too, Max!”

She falls on her back, arms spread, and stares at the stars as beer soaks the fringes of her head. Her fingers tousle the stars, ironed on the sky like an intricate tapestry. Crickets chirp around her, egged on by swaying trees waving in Chloe’s peripheral.

Her hand drops and pads at her pocket, pushing dirt around her. After a moment of grunting, she relinquishes a crushed cigarettes carton from her jeans. She tears it open, the top bent in, for a single stick to slide out and hit her chest.

“Booyah,” she says. The carton falls aside as she lights the stick, hand hiding it from the growing breeze. She puffs until it lights, flicks off the lighter, and drags deep until she coughs. She kicks at the dirt.

Chloe drags herself up, rocking about as she walks through the junkyard. Smoke trails behind her staggered path among forgotten memories. She keeps her eyes on the sky and smoke, stumbling with a yelp every so often. The stars hold her gaze as she steps over an old shirt, plaid and stained, stuck to the ground like plaster.

She saunters out of the junkyard, tossing the spent butt aside, the tip still sizzling in the fluid air.

Light starts coloring the heavens, plunging them in a thin film of yellow. Chloe huffs as she yanks open the door to her truck. It bangs against the side making an awful wrenching noise she’s sure is bad. On the driver’s seat sits an old Polaroid camera, flatter than the traditional model. She breathes out. Her fingers run through her hair, pulling off her beanie.

“What? Oh, god dammit.” She reaches down, snatching her hat, and tosses it onto the passenger seat.

It takes a minute for Chloe to get on the road, still a distance away from street lights and civilization. Her truck brights, left one flickering, light up the foliage surrounding her. A straight road stretches out before her and she reaches below the passenger seat to grab a can of beer. Knee on the steering wheel, she cracks it open and drinks with one eye on the road.

Pines scrap at the car, leaving long lines in the faded paint, needles getting stuck in the crags of the metal. Her knee slips, veering her to the side. A tree punches back her side view mirror before she’s able to correct the car’s trajectory.

The can’s half way through when she exits the forest. She squints against the sun peeking over the mountain tops. Arcadia Bay’s worn buildings and mottled streets quickly fill her vision. Only the homeless sleeping on the sides of the road populate the city at this hour. Chloe swerves as she tops off the beer, throwing the can outside the window.

“An’ we could run away, ‘fore the light of day, yunno we always could,” Chloe sings under her breath. “The mountains say, mmh, the mountains say.” She speeds up as she turns the corner. The ocean covers the view to her left, golden in the trailing morning shine. “Before the light of day…” Chloe glances at the water, her eyes shimmering.

Chloe pulls the wheel, screeching to a halt. She lunges forward, catching herself on the door. She kicks it open, hopping out, and walks away, leaving her truck in the middle of the left lane with the door open.

The trees call out, birds waking and greeting the morning. Chloe kicks at a squirrel as it runs past. The Polaroid hangs in her hands, always about the slip until her thumb readjusts around the plastic casing.

“C’mon, Chloe! Hurry up!” Chloe spouts, mimicking Max’s smooth tone. She wasn’t sure if Max sounded like that anymore, but she couldn’t shake the image of thirteen-year old Max from her mind, running up the path to the lighthouse.

Her brown hair flows behind her in a ponytail, her braces glinting in the sun. Chloe smiles back. Her foot catches on a rock, throwing her to the ground. “Fuck!” The Polaroid spins across the dirt. She looks up to see the path empty.

Dusted off and Polaroid back in her palm, Chloe marches up the path. Marked signs and carved trees, gashes in their trunks, surround her, covered in C’s and M’s, little pirate signs littering the cracks of this pocket of nature. She keeps her eyes forward. She takes out her lighter and flicks it, watching the sparks spray out. It lights her face, lips a thin line.

Rustling in the bushes draws her attention, stowing the lighter back in her pocket.

“Hey, asshole. You got somethin’ ta say, just-” Her voice catches in her throat. A deer, maybe a baby one, stares back at her. Its pristine coat lists in the breeze like a shallow sea of maple. The tail quivers as it watches the blue-haired teenager.

“Max would eat this up,” Chloe whispers. “Wait, shit.” She reaches down to the Polaroid, pulling it up, but steps on a twig. It snaps under her heel. “No, come back!” Chloe reaches out as the doe darts away, bounces through the brush and disappearing into the morning mist. “I can’t do one fucking thing right!” She kicks a rock away with a heavy swing. It ricochets off a tree and knocks her on the forehead between her eyes. “Gah! Son of a-” She daps at the spot and pulls away to find blood glinting on her fingertips. She sighs. “Figures.”

She uses the hem of her shirt to wipe the blood then walks again, dragging her feet. Dust pools at her feet, birds perched nearby taking flight at the sight of her. “Yeah, fly away. Everyone else does.”

She breaks through the tree cover, reaching the expanse of rocks and bushes. The sea crashing into the cliffs ahead beckons her. Seagulls drift around the top of the lighthouse. Everything was still here, as if waiting. Just like last years and the year before that. “And the year before that.”

She approaches the bench her and Max once occupied together many years ago. She catchs chestnut hair dangling over the back of the wood. “Max!” She runs forward, kicking up dirt. She spins around the corner of the bench, grinning.

A flurry of dead leaves passes over the bench, drifting off the cliff. Water drips down into the dirt.

Chloe collapses on the bench with a heave. Her hands balance on the balls of her knees, scuffed from been worn for weeks. She combs her hair back, pulling out a few strands of loose, blue hair. She looks up at the growing morning glow.

“What’s this called, Max? Something hour? Or is that later.” She waits, wishing for an answer. Maybe the breeze will carry words to her ears, but nothing comes. Just the howl of the wind and the cry of the birds.

“Hella hour. That’s what it’s called, yep.” She pulls up the camera. It sat unused in her room for three hundred and sixty-four days. Today’s the three hundred and sixty-fifth. She can’t remember when she last reloaded the cartridge. Must have been around this time last year. She holds it up, staring at the endless expanse of water. She pushes down on the button, tilting the camera slightly.

“Shit!” The camera spits out the photo, the mechanical sound contrasting with the crashing waves. She yanks it out and shakes it. The image is the sea, off-kilter and out of focus. “I’m not the photographer out of us.” Puddles begin forming on the film, falling off in streaks.

“You were always so eager to run up here, carve our names in the wood, then you’d take out that dumb camera and snap it like you were so fucking original.” She sniffs into her fingers, thumbs swiping at her eyes. “You don’t remember this. Why should you? You’ve got it made, huh? Livin’ the high life in artsy-hipster town. Leaving me in the dust.” Her eyes scan over the photo. She holds it up against the water, comparing reality to the image.

“Happy birthday, Max.”


End file.
